


Ensnared

by marchionessofblackadder



Series: A Crown of Roses [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his new wife's head upon his chest, Rumpelstiltskin thinks of their last visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ensnared

There wasn’t much that escaped the Dark One’s ears, but it was impossible to hear anything over his own labored breathing. He felt like he was burning beneath his green scales, and his lungs were stinging as he lay on his back, his tousled chestnut haired bride spilled across his chest and remaining as the only anchor to keep him from springing off the bed to fling a window open. He could do it with magic, if he could manage to string his thoughts together, but the delicious and sleepy fullness that came with such an onslaught of pleasure had him merely coherent enough to draw the sheet up over Belle enough to give her back some of her modesty. Modesty that had been shed before the fire, layer after layer until they were pressed together, writhing and moaning in quiet joy. The warmth in his chest and the burning in his throat was good-better than anything he’d felt in years, and though they were still damp and breathless, he watched Belle shift enough to toss her head and press her lips to his heart, making him shiver and hold back from turning her beneath him again and waking her up properly.

Desire was an old acquaintance that he’d forgotten could exist in his lifetime, but Belle was fresh and green and sparkling with life enough for double his centuries. She had kissed him with the sweetest mouth, had touched his hair, his back, his chest with keen interest, tugged him between her legs with the eager willingness of a new bride ready to uncover that particular mystery of the world. And oh, yes, he’d gone where she’d led-he’d answered her every whimper, tasted the salt of her skin and the cinnamon on her breath, felt her delicious warmth and revelled in her softness. He had tried to be gentle, for all that he remembered how, and only capable of making sure she was not hurt before he’d let himself go viscously. Now, he lay spent and panting as any other ordinary man who took his wife to bed, and he had to admit that it was not an unpleasant weight that kept him in his bride’s chamber.

After a few moments, he was able to lift his hand and tentatively pet her hair, marveling at the softness. His other hand strayed to her arm, his thumb making gentle sweeps along the soft skin beneath the inside of her wrist. She wasn’t moving, save for her breathing, and he was relatively sure she’d fallen asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, he let his eyes drift up to the canopy over her bed, frowning at the little rose patterns of the blue and white and gold of the silk sheets.

There had been enough roses for one day. He glanced over to the fireplace where his gift lay upon the mantel, bloody red petals and frothy green leaves blooming above the glow of the light. The enchantress had appeared in the great hall, thick brocade robes of emerald and her river of golden blonde hair shining against the firelight where she sat in his chair. She looked up at him evenly where he stood just at the hall’s doors,narrowing her eyes like a cat peering at a bird of prey and trying to decide if it should go for the kill.

“Who is she?” the enchantress asked, folding her hands in her lap calmly. Rumpelstiltskin wrinkled his nose in distaste at her cutting brashness, at her presumptuous tongue that deemed to speak to him with such disrespect, but save for the Reul Ghorm, she was the only magical being to have bested him, a slight he could not forget and would not forgive. At his disquiet, the enchantress crossed one knee over the other beneath her robes, arching a dark eyebrow at him. “The wedding veil was my magic at work, Rumpelstiltskin. Made by mine own hands. You cannot have thought I would not know when it ensnared a new bride.”

“I was rather counting on you being otherwise engaged,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, and instead of crossing the room to close the distance between himself and this frighteningly beautiful and prickly sorceress, strode to his wheel. It was free of straw and gold, but the familiar creek of wood when he turned it was enough to calm him. He could still taste the pine and heather and dew from the meadow. _He had a wife again_.

“Fool,” the enchantress murmured, suddenly right behind him, and he bared his teeth over his shoulder. The corner of her mouth twitched, and she stepped around closer to the window, eyes alight. “I will not ask again.”

“My wife is none of your concern,” Rumpelstiltskin replied bitingly, feeling a warm rush of satisfaction at the utter horror that befell the beautiful face. It pleased him more than he could have expected, being able to tell the world Belle was _his_ -his _wife_. He had been trying to assure himself that it was better this way-she would no longer need to exist under the pretense of a maid. She would not have to fulfill duties of a caretaker. She could live out her life in peace, occupying his library, his garden, his halls and fill them with her light and laughter and warmth. She had reclaimed herself in front of him in that little meadow, proving her heart just as fiery, just as emblazoned as her mind. For all the worlds, he wished to be able to savor that in some way. Having her close was enough-it was _more_ than enough.

“You’re lying,” the enchantress had said, glaring at him, but at his smugness that he wore like an air, her fists balled up at her sides and she whispered, “Do you know what it is you have done?”

“Ruffled your feathers?” He gave a nasty laugh when she snorted, and he turned the wheel again. Let the frigid wretch spit and snort in her distaste-it was naught to him. Belle would be safe and this dark, unkind magic would be banished as far away from her as he could  cast it. He swallowed thickly, thinking of what they must do before that. He felt sick with anticipation, and bit on his own smile until the enchantress found her words again and spoke.

“You must let her go.” He stopped spinning, glaring up at her over the wheel. She no longer showed her rage upon her face, but there was a war brewing beneath her very skin. Her eyes were deep, and more ancient that even him, and she clasped her hands together, shaking her head pityingly. “You must let her go, Rumpelstiltskin. You have cursed her more now than ever.”

Stepping around the wheel, his leathers creaking quietly in the silence, he narrowed his eyes and drew his words out slowly, carefully, asking, “What are you talking about?”

“The path you have chosen in this world must be one you face alone. You must not-” She stopped, her eyes shining in the dimness of the firelight, and he could hear the anguish in her voice, the utter mercy that dripped from her mouth. She stepped forward to him, shaking her head and disturbing her long blonde hair. “Do you not see? You have gained power and legend through your deeds in life, but she is meant for something else. She cannot be touched by your darkness,” the enchantress stopped, looking away from him as if she couldn’t bear it a moment more. “She cannot find happiness with you, and you will never be able to love her as a man should.”

“How dare you!” Rumpelstiltskin felt the impulse to raise his hand, but instead took a step forward, his eyes feeling hot enough to melt the very stones around them. “How dare you presu-”

“Would you truly damn her to a lifetime with you? With your sordid ambitions?” she asked sharply, her voice like glass shattering on his ears, and he felt all the blood drain from his face at the demand. She glared him down, gaining the upper hand. “Her fate is not entwined with yours. To keep her for yourself is selfish, and it is _wrong_. That crown was intended for only the binding of true love-” the enchantress appraised him with the coldest eyes he’d ever seen, and they smiled even if her lips did not. “-and you are a creature who cannot love, nor be loved. Such is your curse, and now hers.”

There was much to be done, but Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seek to extricate himself from Belle’s embrace so soon. As lecherous as he felt, laying beneath her slowly cooling skin and her lemongrass scented hair, he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching those chestnut curls, even lifting her palm up to press a sweet kiss where she would not remember it.

Perhaps he had made an unwise choice, banishing the enchantress into the form of the rose that would never fade, nor die. His anger had only been at the truth of the matter, that the crown was only meant for true love. Now, because of him, Belle would never find it, would never have it, and he wondered not for the first time how he had become so monstrous.

He would protect her from harm, from danger until the curse was set in motion. When things could break, when he could find his son, she would be free of him. Holding her just shy of too tight, he felt no remorse in letting her go-no true remorse, because no matter what magic had been done, Belle was his wife, here and now. No course of fate, however cruel, could take that from him in this world, or in any other.


End file.
